On A Day Like Today
by Stevie Malfoy
Summary: I look tired, with my hair slightly messed up, and I smile as I remember that that is how you like it best. My smile almost looks foreign; then again, I haven’t seen it for ages, not until you came around. Just as I’m about to step into the water an arm g


**On days like yesterday, I think I'm beginning to love you.**

It was such long practices for both of us. Quidditch and occlumency, respectively. I stumbled to my room, barely able to bear walking from the pitch to the dungeons, only to find a half-conscious Gryffindor sprawled out on my bed. Naturally I collapse soon after on top of you, and everything is right. It's these little times that I don't even think you will remember when you're old, as your memory will be so crowded with other monumental events, that I keep so close to me. The slightest touch, glance, smile, and instance I immediately lock away in the depths of my mind with so many other darker secrets and memories. First it seems as though I shouldn't taint these recollections with the others, but I soon realize that they shed a little light into the darkness as well.

Sooner than I want to, I realize that it is, in fact, getting late, and that I, in fact, need to shower. As I gently get up from my—our—bed, careful not to wake you, I can't help but muse upon the irony. It would seem as though as while you sleep so peacefully, without the usual frown of worry on your face, that I could so easily ruin your everything, and I would have done just that but a few months ago, given the chance. But since then I've learned so incredibly much, and instead of crushing your world as you sleep, I pull the covers over you and watch as your chest gently rises and falls.

Before I go to take a shower, my owl taps on the window, stopping me from mentally tracing the faint scar that mars your forehead. I open the window, shudder from the cold, and take the letter from the owl's leg before it even has a chance to hoot. Quickly it flies off, and I wonder what it would be like to be free.

It's a letter from mother, whom I haven't talked to since she'd severed ties with dear old dad. She tells me, with the noble informalities that are so ingrained in her blood that she has gone into hiding, afraid of Lucius' repercussions, and I wonder where she is. It was simply signed "Narcissa," with no hint of warmth, but I'm used it. Even away from Lucius, I don't think she's capable of love. I throw the letter onto my desk, putting off writing back a similarly informal letter until the morning. I pad across the cold stone tiles to the bathroom and turn on the shower.

A hot steam soon after fills the bathroom from the hot water cascading down the cool tiles. I wipe the steam from the mirror, allowing myself to see my reflection. I look tired, with my hair slightly messed up, and I smile as I remember that that is how you like it best. My smile almost looks foreign; then again, I haven't seen it for ages, not until you came around. Just as I'm about to step into the water an arm grabs me from behind and a pair of lips find my neck. I shudder, understanding what you mean without saying a word, and realize that on days like this I am beginning to love you.

**On days like today, I doubt that I've ever loved you.**

I stir from sleep, and am vaguely aware of how the sunlight streaming in from the windows dances on your face. It all seems so poetic, and I believe that today will be a day just like yesterday: a day of blissful ignorance and idyllic, peaceful perfection. But we all know that that would just simply be too easy, and from experience, we all know nothing is easy.

Sooner or later you rouse from sleep, wiping your eyes in the manner of a child, putting into perspective how young we really are. We shouldn't have to deal with all this, but I know that there is no other way as I see the incessant frown of worry and uncertainty grace your brow like it has for so many days before it as you gaze wantonly at the ceiling. It was gone last night, but only momentarily, because all good things inevitably come to an end.

I lean over quickly and kiss your forehead, wishing to wipe the worried look away, only to be met with your weary eyes that look so much more jaded than they should. I lay my head down on your chest, listening intently to your breathing, knowing that you want to speak but you won't. Maybe it's for the better, because I know that on days like this what topic will dominate conversation, and I don't want to discuss it now. Too many uncertainties, too many worries, not enough answers. As I scoot in closer you your neck, finding the place where my head fits perfectly on your shoulder, I feel the inevitable deep breath that you take whenever you are about to speak, and as much as I don't want to hear it, as much as I want to remain in this state of silence, I know that whatever you are thinking you have to get off your chest, regardless of what I wish.

"Draco…," you start hesitantly, as the grey storm clouds outside mimic the sudden change in atmosphere.

"Harry, please…" I start, not wanting to hear it now. As much as it probably needs to be said, I frankly don't want to hear it. Not out of unconcern or annoyance, I just want the bliss to last as long as it can before it all comes crashing down. I try to kiss your neck, trying to dissuade you from speaking anymore, but you move your head down to look my in the eyes and I know that today you will be stubborn.

"I know that you don't want to hear it, but come on Draco, someone has to say it. Its coming Draco, the war is coming. Voldemort's coming, and…"

"I know, Harry, I know…"

" But Draco, it is so uncertain, this is so uncertain, it's all so vague. How do I know I'm not setting myself up for…"

"Because I love you, Harry. That's how you know."

"How do I know that? How do I know anything? I feel like a puppet, being told what to do, where to go, and what my job is in this war. When have I had time to decide any of this? What do I have to say?"

I don't know if you notice or not, but tears have filled my eyes, not only because I told you plainly that I loved you and you disregarded it totally, but also because the look in your eyes gives away how scared you really are. I try to get closer to you, trying to protect you from it all, but you're already getting out of the bed.

"I wish I could trust this all Draco, but I can't. Everyone and everything has made me so paranoid, I only wish I didn't have to take it out on you."

You find your clothes, and notice the letter and whom it is from on the desk. You pick it up, mumble something under your breath, and throw it back down on the desk as you hastily slip into your t-shirt.

"What was that, Potter?" I ask, mad at you for your childish behavior when all I want to do is prove that something is certain in this God-forsaken war, and that is me, but even more mad at myself for calling you spitefully by your last name.

"I said 'look, correspondence with the enemy,' Malfoy," you spit back.

"No, Potter, that's called family," I growl, careless of your feelings at the time. I tried, I really did, but you crossed a line and anything was fair now. You stare at me for a moment more and leave the room, slamming the door behind you. I truly start to doubt, regardless of all the memories locked deep inside, that I have ever loved you.

**In times like these, I know I've loved you all my life.**

It is always the same, some what of a vicious cycle, but I guess happiness can't last forever. I mentally chastise myself for crying, but soon give in as the tears flow freely. I don't know what it will take for me to prove to you that I'll be here until the end, but I know deep down that I will keep trying, no matter what. I wipe my eyes of the offending tears, and turn the shower on again, to scour myself of you, only if it is momentarily. I don't want to be rid of you entirely, I just want to start over again.

Again I look to the mirror for my reflection, and the blood-shot, teary eyes of today don't match the smile of yesterday. I splash cold water from the faucet on my facing while silently praying that you will come back and force back from my mind the possibility that you won't.

I spend entirely too long in the shower in a semi-conscious state of depression, and notice how the water has wrinkled my hands. Thankfully the taps are charmed with heating charms and the warm water that seems almost medicinal never runs out. I hastily dry off, thankful that is it a Saturday and that I have nothing to do, and put on my clothes. I shake the wet hair out of my eyes and head back to my room.

Throwing open the doors, I see your teary eyes staring back. You try to speak, but only manage a sob as you stumble towards my outstretched arms. You fall, and I catch you as always, into my arms, where you belong. We both know that we didn't mean what was said, and as my wet hair drips onto our faces, we make it all up with a simple kiss.

"I'm sorry, Draco…you know I…"

"…didn't mean any of it. I know, and neither did I. I…"

"…love you so much. Please don't…"

"…be so scared, it's going to be alright. I'll never…"

"..ever…"

"…leave your side. No matter what."

It's almost scary how fragile you look, lying in my arms, crying. But I realize that you shouldn't have this burden thrust upon you, that you shouldn't have to deal with this, and that it's okay to cry, to be scared, because we're only seventeen year old children. But I do know that no matter what, you will win, we will win, and I know that I'll be by your side until the end. When you finally look me in the eyes, I see how strong you really are, and as you kiss me, I know that I've loved you all my life.


End file.
